I do not own X-Men: Days of Future Past.
Or the DVD. Yet. Boo.
The Story Left Untold
Chapter 7: Look Beyond the Blue
Uhhggghhh . . .
His head hurt.
And it was cold.
And wet.
Hank tried to open his eyes.
Bad idea.
Uhhggghhh . . .
He became aware of that his body was flat out a hard surface, arms splayed out from his sides.
One clawed hand was resting lightly against something slightly rough and firm, yet warm and alive.
Hank McCoy pulled his eyelids open with the all of the willpower he had.
The room was dim, lit only by a bedside table lamp.
It was still too bright.
Raven, Mystique, the woman in blue, hovered above him.
Her yellow eyes were dry but worry stood out in them nonetheless.
What's my hand touching? Thigh. Oh. Don't squeeze.
Her searching gaze found his orange eyes and she smiled fleetingly.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Sorry I hit you. I had to."
Her voice was tinged with regret but he knew she'd do it again without hesitation if forced to. And he was glad.
"I know. Thanks."
For the blunt force trauma.
But if she had not intervened, where would he be? What lengths would Charles Xavier truly have gone to get what he wanted?
Omph, there's that thigh again.
"Hank?"
Her voice was gentle and kind. He wasn't used to it sounding that way.
It sounded like she . . . cared.
"Huh?"
"Just move your hand away."
His brains felt scrambled and disjointed. Still he managed to respond.
"Oh, okay."
He did. A little. It wasn't easy because the hand in question seemed unnaturally heavy and thick.
In the meantime, Raven removed her hand from the side of his head. In it was a damp soft cloth.
Well, that explains the wet cold. But not the thigh.
Hank tried to sit up and was immediately overwhelmed with a sense of dizziness and nausea.
He heaved suddenly, retching up a thin, watery bile. His blue skinned nursemaid deftly caught it in the cloth, wiping it away from his mouth without a trace of disgust.
He hung his head listlessly, forcing himself to remain upright.
Well, that was sexy, he thought sarcastically. At least I didn't lose bladder control during the attack. I just bought these gray sweatpants.
Raven cupped his chin in one hand and carefully tilted his face up. Peered into his slightly unfocused eyes.
"You may have a concussion."
He couldn't respond.
"Come on," she said, rising. "Let's get you to bed."
Yes, Mother. I mean, Ma'am. I mean, Mystique.
Raven patiently supported him from the floor to the bed. Hank practically puddled onto the mattress. Raven pulled the cover over him and smoothed his blue hair back from his forehead with a tender hand.
She looked thoughtful.
Hank tried to smile at her.
She didn't return the gesture.
"Charles has never done anything like that before. That was . . . bad. I'm sorry he hurt you," she murmured quietly.
Hank started to raise his leaden hand to her scaled face then thought better of it. Instead he simply spoke.
"Did he hurt you?"
His red haired mutant caretaker shook her head a little.
"No. I'm only tired from fighting against the control."
Hank was quiet for a minute.
"But I hurt you. I threw you into the wall. I'm sorry."
She shrugged.
"I'm fine. Go to sleep. You'll be better in the morning."
She rose and he caught her hand. She looked down. He looked up.
"Thank you," he murmured.
And let go of her hand.
Raven, Mystique turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He heard her lay down in the creaky bed and the sound of rustling sheets as she covered up.
All was silent and quiet. City sounds and lights filtered in through the walls and the curtained window.
He thought he would sleep then.
But he didn't.
His advanced hearing picked up her quiet, even breathing. She was not asleep yet.
"Did you love him? Erik?"
He could have knitted a sweater in the time she took to respond.
"Did or do?"
He considered it.
"Either. Both."
And waited.
"He accepted me for who and what I was. He was different than any other man I'd ever met. I felt like I could be alive and free and powerful."
She stopped talking for a while. And Hank waited, listening to her breathe.
"He didn't love me, not deeply. Not more than his mission. But he cared for me. Taught me. Pushed me."
Off a satellite? 'Cause I don't see how that would help you.
"I always knew where I stood. And where it could end."
She paused. Hank asked a question he knew the answer to.
"Where?"
She answered matter of factly.
"When I went against his mission."
She was silent for a while.
"When he was captured, I was lost. I tried to get him back but I couldn't."
She's been alone, Hank mused. I know how that feels.
"But after a long time, I had a new mission."
Hank remained quiet. She seemed to take his silence as disapproval.
"Hank, I have to kill Trask. "
He considered all the possible responses he could provide.
No, you don't.
Sure, I guess everybody needs a hobby.
Have you considered taking up needlepoint?
You know, I've heard science is developing some relatively effective antipsychotics.
And decided to stick with the simplest one.
"Why?"
She stayed quiet so long he nearly dozed off.
"To save us all. And my son."
And Hank was wide awake all over again. So awake he nearly levitated off the bed and onto the ceiling.
Not so alone then. Okay. Stay cool, McCoy.
He cleared his throat carefully, willing his voice not to crack with emotion.
"Erik's?"
The tension seemed unbearable.
"No. Azazel."
Hank was floored again. And apparently a little too quiet.
She spoke once more, her voice floating out of the darkness, sounding a little defensive.
"I can feel you judging me from over here, Hank. Stop it."
He tried to shake his head and got a pulse of renewed throbbing agony for his efforts.
"No, just . . . confused."
Big, red, teleporting monster, right? Are you serious?
"I was too at first," she replied. "Then I wasn't. And then he was dead. Taken and tortured and experimented on by Trask. I know. I saw the pictures."
So much. She's suffered and lost so much. No wonder she's so angry, so determined.
When she next spoke, her voice was hard and cold.
"I just have to kill Trask. Then the killings and expermentations will stop. Our mutant brothers and sisters will be safe. We all can move forward."
No, it won't be that easy, Mystique. It will never end. It will only get worse.
But he kept quiet. Mostly because it hurt too much to talk.
After a while, she spoke one last time.
"Hank?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't die tonight, okay?"
"Okay."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Mystique."
"Hank."
Yes, my Twinkie?
"Hank."
Yes, I'm listening. Your voice floats into my soul on wispy zephyrs of radiance and light.
"Hank!"
Wthf? Where am I?
Hank opened his eyes. Sunlight. Small, sparse room.
Raven.
Blue Mystique.
Oh.
She seemed to refuse to show relief that he was conscious.
"Are you better?"
He sat up carefully. His head was sore from her forced double assault the previous night. But the nausea was gone and he felt slightly dizzy only when he considered all the events of the previous day.
He was also starving.
"Yes," he replied.
She nodded solemnly.
"Good. Get up. We've got work to do."
This gave him pause.
But the White House isn't 'til tomorrow. And it's early.
"What?" he questioned curiously.
She glared at his lack of hustle.
"Just get up. Come on, I'll get you a coffee and a cream-filled donut."
Hey, that's close to a Twinkie.
Hank got up.
After placating their ravenous hungers with the hot coffee and cream-filleds from a nearby shop, Raven drove both she and Hank to the most unlikeliest of places.
A grocery store.
Dumbfounded, Hank McCoy followed as his blonde haired companion grabbed a shopping cart. And methodically powered down the aisles, grabbing mostly canned goods and other long-lasting staples. Most of the items she bought could be eaten with minimal preparation.
Watching her load baby food and diapers into the cart, Hank wondered how old her son was.
Best not to ask. She might run me down.
Then he didn't have time to ask her anything because she pushed a second cart into his hands and bade him follow her.
After filling up both carts with items from an apparent checklist in her head, she headed to the checkout.
She paid the clerk in cash and they rolled their many purchases out to the car. She quickly divided all the items into multiple smaller bags. Then took off down the road, a slightly baffled Hank at her side.
She'd been quiet for so long Hank was beginning to suspect he might have gone deaf.
So he spoke.
Digging for information, maybe a whiff of a smile.
"I thought you said you didn't have money to spend."
She cast him a withering look.
"Not on a fancy hotel room or two. But food to feed hungry mutants? Yes."
And six foot two inch Hank McCoy felt very small.
And so Raven, the dangerous mutant Mystique, and her companion Hank McCoy, the blue furry beast, went visiting.
She drove to different abodes and sheltering areas around the D.C. area, delivering needed supplies to destitute mutants and their families.
She sat with them and Hank watched her comfort and sympathize with the lost, forgotten souls of the world. He watched her make them smile, make them laugh, make them hope. Some of them could hide their abilities and mutations, some couldn't.
Some openly wept and seemed to plead for understanding and release. Some were nothing but seething volcanos of hate and loathing for their situations. Some were peaceful and accepting of their unique lot in life.
She showed compassion for them all, encouraging them, uplifting them, offering them solutions when she could.
Hank had never been so awed in his entire life as he was on that day.
She did not speak to any one of them of her coming mission. Whether to spare them that knowledge and worry or to protect herself, he didn't know.
She revealed her true physical form whenever she safely could.
And none of them, no matter what their physical or mental condition, hurt her.
Or even attempted.
Instead, they all seemed to look upon her with a sense of appreciation. Wonder. Devotion.
As did Hank.
When they stopped for hot dogs at a local stand along one of their routes, Hank managed to find some fumbling, inept words to express his newfound sense of amazement.
"You helped so many people, Mystique. You were kind to them. You cared about them."
She looked upon him and her eyes flashed from blue to yellow to blue as his words coursed through her brain.
And then she said the most hopeful thing Hank had ever heard her say in all the time he'd known her.
"It's not always about fighting and killing and death, Hank. Sometimes it's about living."
I hope this chapter touched your soul a little. If not, we might need to talk.
Okay, Hank's not being a perv here at the beginning. He's just a guy. He's also disoriented from the blow to the head. Cut him some slack, sweeties.
Also, since he fought and suffered for her, I thought it would be important for Raven/Mystique to be able to trust him enough at this point to allow him to understand and know her a little better. Plus, he's sort of cutting through her barriers and affecting her just by his presence.
As to the second part, it may seem a little out of character for what we know about the character of Mystique.
But if you knew it was very possible you might die tomorrow, how would you spend today?
Thank you brigid1318 (& her beautiful soul), MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul (Hank's loyal self-assigned bodyguard), and angeleye02 (bless your reading eyes, sweetie), and DaniNaturegirl313 (loving our 'intellectual' discussions by the way) for reviewing.
Thanks as well to Pumpkin-love33 (seriously, I am SO curious) for adding your support to this tale as well.
